


Death, an old friend.

by Raz0reyes



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Animal Death, Death, Graphic, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raz0reyes/pseuds/Raz0reyes
Summary: Something similar to Laurent





	Death, an old friend.

I first met death when I was a child. Staring deep into the open, still vibrant green eyes of my cat as he lay in the street. His skin and fur scraped out onto the road from where he skid. Tar mingled with his blood, was painted in it, bright, angry and red. So red. Forever stained with the body of my dead cat, forever one with the road. This is where he died. I kneel down and pet his face, what was left of it.

My mother screamed and pulled me away as I clutched into his fur, the limp body lifting off the bloodied tar to follow, I could feel how heavy he was, and how sudden he felt from my grasp as I let go in surprise, the wet thud of his body droned in my skull. He stared back at me now upside down, blood dripped from his open mouth. He lay broken, dead. A word I did not know at the ripe age of 6 years.

Why ? It’s just my cat, I just wanted to say goodbye, I wanted to touch its fur one more time, I still remember the strands of loose fur that stuck to my sweaty palm, which stayed out reaching to its mangled corpse, broken bloodied. Collapsed. I never took my eyes off of my cat until I was forced to. They put it in a black trash bag. What an undignified way to go. I’m so sorry my old friend. That’s why I had to dig you back up. 

The next time I met death was my grandfather's funeral, it was silent and beautiful, the sound of the organ rose high into the steeple. All heads bowed in prayer but mine, kept upright and staring at my grandfather's raised casket. 

He was laying down, old tired eyes finally closed forever in an endless slumber. He looked so at peace, unlike my dear cat whose face I can still see behind my eyes whenever I blink. I see it’s dull eyes staring back through the dark. I blink, I see its tongue hanging out of its open, bleeding muzzle. 

I blink again, I see it’s neck twisted so it’s head is facing backwards, limbs sprawled in the twisted, broken ways only being hit by a car could do to a once living creature. My chest feels heavy, but I do not cry, why can’t I cry? Why can’t I mourn?

The third time is my best friend, in my arms. We were sitting in my basement, he was lucid. Overdosing, dying. He was happy, laughing and crying about how he would miss me. How he begged me to follow him, his legs twitching and body convulsing lightly between spasms and his own erratic, whimsical movements.

He wouldn’t stop touching my face, and playing with my hair, his arms reached up to tangle with the black of my locks, which shielded us away from the world. Our personal void.

His head on my lap as I smoothed the hair away from his face. I stare. He always reminded me of my cat even as he was dying. Was this a second chance? To say goodbye? To comfort one who is unafraid of the inevitable? What was there to comfort in bliss? 

He giggled, I smiled. It was fake. He knew I never smiled. It was the best gift I could think to give him. His arms feel from my face, heavy, like lead. He blinked slowly, eyes red, unfocused. That same green like my cats. Why he was my best and only friend. Face pale and flushed. He laughed a bit louder, head rolling in my hand, drool soaking my palm.

That was the last thing I heard from him until he started to go still, not yet dead. Still dying. I pick him up,close to my chest. Absorbing the fleeing warmth of my once friend. I lay him on the bed before climbing on lay beside him.

I put my head on his chest, and listened to his already slow heart beating slower and slower, feeling the light pulses of his life until they fluttered away under my ears. I close my eyes, I breathe in. I’m still alive. He is dying. He is dead. 

I don’t know how long I had lay there. But once they found what was left of his body after I took what I was promised, I left town. I went into the woods, I didn’t come back out. I met death one last time in those woods. But I won’t tell you about that.


End file.
